She nods slowly. "Yeah, you made that pretty clear back there."
"What can I say, I like people to actuallywantto work with me." I laugh. "I'm of the opinion that sometimes it's worth dealing with difficult people and sometimes it's not. If someone treats their animals like shit, or treats their staff ormy staff like shit, I won't work with them. I don't care how good their product is. But someone who's a little crotchety but raises animals well and treats people fairly? That could be worth the effort of dealing with a less than favorable personality."
She smiles. "Like your mushroom guy."
I groan. "Yes. Exactly like my mushroom guy, though he's less crotchety and more unreliable hippy who thinks time is a social construct. But he finds the best mushrooms in the state, so… We all need our boundaries though. Half the time I make Theo call him because I know I'll snap."
"Is that why you stepped in for me?"
"I have no doubt you could have handled it. But I'll admit Iwasmildly worried you'd throw a punch at him and we'd be screwed for the opening."
"I would have won in a fight, though." She shoots me a look, smiling.
"Oh, I would have bet money on that."
"Yeah well, I appreciate it,” she says. “Sometimes I get hot headed and the way my dad does stuff... I don't know. I've mostly worked at his places so I guess it rubs off. But your way is nice I think."
"For the record, you're nothing like your dad. Bar maybe the hot headedness," I grin. "But seriously, you're great with the whole team. Just a little short tempered when you think someone's pulling one over on you, like a fish vendor or Morrison."
"Oh god, not the fish vendor thing," she groans. "You're never going to let me live that down."
"How could I? It was so memorable. And what did ever happen with him by the way?" I grin at her gleefully because I know full well what happened.
She shoots a glance at me. "We may or may not have miscommunicated about the day he was dropping the fish off. You know that already."
I laugh and we fall into comfortable silence, watching the hills roll by.
"I'm not good at that part," she says quietly, breaking the silence. "The people part. Reading the room, knowing when to push and when to back off. I know how to execute a menu. I know food. But the rest of it..." She trails off, tapping her fingers against the wheel. "You probably think I'm a spoiled rich girl who doesn't know how to talk to normal people."
"No, I don't." I glance over at her. "I think you're probably the most gifted chef I've ever worked with, and you're a nice person with a… mildly spoiled attitude problem."
"Wow, thanks so much," she says dryly with a slight smile.
We keep talking the rest of the drive back and somewhere along the way I realize this is starting to feel like more than just the fun I told myself it would be. More than the late-summer flirtation I described to Theo that first night in the cottage. Some harmless attraction, nothing complicated.
I think I might have been wrong about thenothing complicatedpart.
CHAPTER 6
Isabelle
The bar at Solstice is tucked into a corner of the main tasting room, with exposed stone and warm wood, bottles backlit behind the counter like something out of a design magazine. By the time I make my way there at nine o'clock, I have been on my feet for fourteen hours and my body is staging a full rebellion.
My feet throb, my shoulders have fused into a single concrete block, and I want nothing more than a glass of something strong and a conversation that does not involvemise en placeor protein delivery schedules.
Margot is already at the bar with some papers spread out in front of her, working on her own glass of wine and looking the picture of elegance. I like to think of myself as someone with style and a decent sense of presentation, but after fourteen hours in a kitchen I look like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards and then lightly sautéed for good measure.
But she’s one of those incredible women who somehow manages to look effortlessly put together no matter the hour or the circumstance, like she just stepped out of a spa instead ofworking a long day coordinating events and handling sommelier duties.
Maybe it will rub off on me if I sit close enough to her. Osmosis of sophistication.
"Hey," I say, sliding onto the stool next to her at the corner of the bar. "Would I be in your way if I join you? You look busy, so I can find somewhere else if you need to concentrate."
"No, please," she says, cutting me off with a laugh and pushing the papers aside. "I am at the point where all of this is blurring together into one incomprehensible mess. I could use a distraction"
"Wonderful, because I could use one too." I flag down the bartender, a guy in his twenties with impressive tattoos covering both forearms. "Blanton's, neat."
Wine feels too delicate for the kind of exhaustion I am currently experiencing. If I am going to treat myself, I am going to do it properly.